


More Than Common Ground

by Nyghtmoon



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-06-05 00:35:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15158558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyghtmoon/pseuds/Nyghtmoon
Summary: A mage and former slave, can they find common ground to stand on?





	1. Unlikely Companions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After saving a mage girl from Ser Alrik, Hawke brings Anders to be watched over by a very unlikely person.

If there had been one thing he was sure of when he arrived in Kirkwall, it was that mages needed to be kept in circles, needed to be controlled. He had not exactly been thrilled when Hawke had asked him to accompany them, but she was as always, persuasive. The mage though, no, the abomination, had revealed himself when confronted with the Templars. There was something though, in the way the girl had been pleading, something familiar. The memory of it sent a shudder of revulsion up his spine and he grabbed the neck of the wine bottle, lifting it to his lips and drinking deeply.  


"Maker curse you Mage and you as well Hawke for taking me down there," Fenris grumbled before taking another drink.  


Pacing the floor of the abandoned mansion, he tried desperately to work out why he had felt sympathy for the mage girl. Magic was dangerous, it had to be controlled and was Tranquil really so bad of a solution? The mage would live but they would not be a threat any longer. The image of the girl on her knees though, as Ser Alrik stalked towards her like a lion towards its prey, had shaken him. He knew that look all too well, he had seen it often enough himself.  


A growl tore from his throat and he hurled the bottle at the wall. The glass shattered against the stone sending hundreds of shards skittering across the floor. Fenris stood, staring at the slow drip of red wine down the wall and another shudder tore through him. It was all to familiar, all too relatable and that was something he would never tell Anders. Grabbing another bottle, he removed the cork quickly and downed as much as he could in one swallow. He began his pacing again, bare feet padding on the floor, stepping carelessly on the fragments of glass.  


"This is your fault as well, Mage," he growled as he looked at the path of bloody footprints he left in his wake.  


If it hadn't been for Hawke, Anders would have killed the girl. She was a mage as well though, why should he care about her? Because she was young and frightened, the plea she made was one all too familiar to him. Dark images, memories, flooded his mind and he battled them, trying to press them down into the darkest recesses of his mind. He was whirling in circles, battling with shadows and growling fiercely. When he came to a stop, panting heavily, he glanced down at the now shattered bottle in his hand.  


"I have wasted more wine on you and I can not even yell at you properly!" he snarled at the air.  


"My, my Fenris. Here I thought it was Anders that was going to need to be tended to and yet, it seems you are in as great a need," a familiar voice lilted at him.  


"Hawke. I do not wish to hear you defend him. After today, you should let me rip his heart out! He is an abomination!" Fenris shouted at the dark haired woman that stood in the doorway arms crossed.  


"Actually, I wasn't going to try. Now that we are on the subject though," she said with a lopsided grin.  


"I am right here you know, I can hear both of you," a second voice called out.  


"Abomination! I'll rip your," Fenris began to shout, his markings flaring with an eerie, pale blue light.  


"You can try and fail, elf," a deep sound echoed from the other room and bright blue light cast a shadows that danced around Hawke.  


"Oh, will you two knock it off. Look, you don't need to be best friends here but Fenris, I need you to keep an eye on Anders for a little while, keep him safe. Anders, clearly Fenris is in need of you since he seems to have been arguing with the wine bottles," she said as she put her fists firmly on her hips.  


"No!" both Fenris and Anders shouted at the same time, though the glow had faded from both of them.  


"Maker no, Hawke," Anders pleaded from behind her, "I do not need a babysitter."  


"What you need is a good fist punched. . ." Fenris started to snarl.  


"Oh? Offering are you pretty boy?" Anders called out in a mocking tone.  


"Alright! Enough, just sit in silence and glare at one another. I expect to find you both in one piece later on," Hawke said before turning and leaving them both alone together.  


Fenris very nearly ran after her but it would have meant leaving the mage alone in his home for one and turning his back on him for another. If he was being tasked with watching the abomination, he had every intention of doing so. If Anders made one wrong move, he would tear his heart out with his bare hand and simply tell Hawke that he had turned. They had seen it earlier so it wasn't all that far fetched really.  


"Come in here where I can watch you properly, Mage," Fenris snarled through clenched teeth.  


"If it is all the same to you, I think I will stay out here. It's warmer," Anders retorted.  


"Your comfort is of no concern to me. If you will not come in here, then I will simply come to you. There are places to sit in here, there are not in that room. The choice is yours," Fenris called and crossed his arms over his chest.  


There was silence from the other room and Fenris growled to himself. Stalking forward, he shoved a lock of white hair from his face and very nearly crashed into the blonde mage as he made his way through the doorway almost sheepishly. They were stood, just inches apart and glaring into one another's eyes. It was Anders he broke first, his amber eyes catching the trail of blood behind the elf and he gave a soft gasp.  


"Andraste's knickerweasles! When Hawke said you had a need because you had been arguing with the wine bottles, I assumed she meant you were drunk and needed care. Not that I would have helped you had you been drunk, that you would recover from quick enough on your own. This though, come on sit down," Anders said and brushed past him quickly, pushing his sleeves up as he went.  


Fenris stood, blinking for a few moments at the now empty space before him. Turning slowly, he looked at where Anders now was stood pointing at the couch and he shook his head. There was no way that he was going to allow him to touch him, not without doing the man harm. That would displease Hawke and for all of her poor choice in friends, Fenris respected her. Instead of dropping it though, Anders lifted his hand and waved him forward, offering a shy sort of smile. Knitting his brow he inched forward slowly.  


"If you do anything other then heal me, I will shove my fist into your chest and rip your heart out."  


"I am rather counting on it. Look, I know what I am and I know that I can not always control him. Justice is. . . he is strong and he is not what he once was. I know that is my fault, I realize that but I really did intend to help him," Anders half pleaded.  


"I do not care what your intention was, I care what you have actually done, what the demon has done through you."  


"Justice is not a demon, or he wasn't. He is, or was, a spirit, trapped beyond the fade and," Anders started to shout angrily.  


"What he was then, he is no longer now. You said it yourself, your anger warped him, changed him. As I said before, you must recognize your limitations," Fenris said calmly.  


Anders began to pace, fingers slipping into his blonde hair and pulling at it as he made a low, keening noise. He was clearly agitated, upset and already blaming himself but for some reason, instead of using it to his advantage, Fenris remained quiet, simply watching him for a moment. Some small part of him in the very back of his mind found himself asking if he was all that different. Had he not committed heinous acts?  


"You are very good at kicking me when I am down."  


"It is an observation, Mage. Everyone has limits, even Hawke. Even you," Fenris replied before moving to where the couch sat.  


He lowered himself down onto it slowly, his pale green eyes watching the mage carefully. He gave a heavy sigh, before holding his hand out and rolling his eyes. He would only put himself through this because of Hawke and for no other reason. Certainly not because he understood Anders at all.

“It still feels like a condemnation,” Anders retorted as he inched closer to the outstretched hand.  


“That is on you, not me,” came the retort as Fenris curled his lip up slightly.  


Both of them fell silent, eyes locked on one another for a moment. Anders slowly raised his hands over the proffered injury and began healing, the magic flowing from him in a smooth stream. As it touched on the wounds, a familiar sensation swept over Fenris and he juddered, nearly yanking himself away. The magic prickled along the line of lyrium etched into his flesh, causing an all to familiar revulsion in the pit of his stomach. This was different though, it was not draining, or pulling on the lyrium reserves, it was pouring magic into him. 

When his hand had been healed, he pulled his hand back quickly, cradling it to his chest protectively. He very nearly thanked the mage when he saw Anders move to his knees in front of him, leaning forward.  


“What are you doing?” Fenris cried out in alarm, his throat tight and hoarse.  


Anders looked up at him, bewildered his amber eyes full of confusion and a sort of compassion that Fenris had not expected to see. As the mage licked his lips nervously, he pointed to his still bloody fet and gave a half grin.  


“Figured I would take the glass out and heal your feet up as well. Since Hawke asked me to,” Anders said quickly.  


There was little more than a grunt of response but Fenris leaned back slightly and lifted his foot up. He was surprised as warm fingers coiled around his ankle to help hold him steady. There was a low, soft hum from the mage as he began to pluck shards of glass out, his head bent forward. Firelight glinted off the blonde hair casting sparks of gold, copper and red that danced as he moved his head back and forth, examining the wounds. For reasons he could not explain, an image of the man in a more intimate position flashed through his mind and he let out a hiss of revulsion at his own thoughts.  


“I’m sorry, did that hurt?” Anders asked, his voice warm and soft.  


“No. I did not expect you to be. . . like this,” Fenris responded slowly.  


A smile pulled at the corners of the mages mouth and he gave a low chuckle before bending his head forward again to continue plucking shards of glass out. He was silent which sent a flood of relief through Fenris as he would not have to explain what he meant by that statement. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on something else, anything else.  


“Should I have been brutal then? Torn the glass out and made more work for myself?” Anders asked suddenly, an amused note in his voice.  


“I did not expect that you would be gentle. We do not like one another,” Fenris concluded.  


“I never said I did not like you Fenris, only that I disagree with some of your. . . opinions. I just wish that you could see past your own experiences. An abuse is an abuse be it against an elf or a mage,” Anders said as he began to pour healing energy into the now glass free foot.  


“They are different,” Fenris retorted, refusing to be drawn into the conversation any further.  


Silence fell between them as Anders continued his healing before moving on to tend to the other foot. He repeated the same actions, holding the ankle gently and plucking shards of glass free before closing the wounds with magic. He sat back on his heels and looked up at him, giving him a cheeky sort of smile.  


“Shoes would help with that you know,” he said with a smile.  


Instead of giving him a response, Fenris simply nodded his head. He did not want to admit that the mage had a point or was right about anything. If he agreed with him on one thing, he was afraid that it would lead down a path from which there was no return. He was an abomination, the very example of why mages were dangerous. Giving a soft grunt as he put both feet on the floor and flexed them, he stood up and found himself looking down on Anders once again. Those warm amber pools were looking up at him, almost hopeful and he tore his gaze away, snarling.  


“I will show you to a room where you may sleep. Do not think to try anything. You are here because of Hawke and for no other reason.”  


He could almost see the disappointment, see the man’s shoulders slump slightly. It should have filled him with satisfaction but it did not. It made him feel guilty and he did not like the feeling at all. Fenris gave a low growl and turned, striding from the room quickly. He could hear Anders scramble to his feet and follow muttering to himself. While he could not make out the words, he could guess at them. No matter how hard Anders tried to prove his point, he would not let him change his mind. He could not allow such a thing.  


Arriving at a door, he turned the knob and threw it open, looking back at Anders as he approached. He stood still in the doorway, holding the door open and looking at the mage silently. Anders opened his mouth a few times as if to say something before falling quiet and moving to slip past him. When he slid past, his hips brushed up against him and cause Fenris to suck in a low hiss of air. The moment the mage was past the door he yanked it shut without so much as a word and stormed of to seek solace in another bottle of wine.


	2. Chapter 2

Fenris woke with a groan, his head pounding as he slowly cracked an eye open. Shafts of light filtered down through the broken windows, dust motes drifting lazily this way and that. His dreams had been disturbing, his mind focused on the gentle touch of the mage as he had tended his wounds. It was merely an effect of the alcohol and memories of his past surfacing, nothing more. Hearing a soft chuckle, he turned his head to find Hawke standing with her hands on her hips. 

"Well then, all in one piece I see. Where is Anders?" she asked with an amused smile. 

"I am not his nursemaid. I presume he is still sleeping. You may take him now, he is as you left him," Fenris half growled as he sat up and pushed strands of white hair from his face. 

"You presume? Fenris, I asked you to watch him for a reason. He was in an emotional state and I did not want him running off," Hawke said her voice tense and irritated. 

"He seemed well enough when he went to bed. I was not about to sit up all night and watch over him, you ask too much of me." 

"Once again, I can hear you both. I was looking for something to eat and I have had almost no luck. Your pantry is poorly stocked Fenris, unless I want wine that is," a familiar voice came drifting into the room. 

Anders entered the room, a sheepish grin on his face as he moved forward carrying a tray. Fenris recoiled on instinct as the mage set it down on the little table and curled his lip up. It had little more then some tea and a few slices of bread that had been buttered but there were two cups, two plates and it was obvious that Anders had been attempting to make him something to eat. 

"Which is mine?" he asked, intending to take the other to ensure that the mage was not trying to poison him. 

"Whichever you like. How is your head?" Anders asked as he looked at him, his amber eyes warm and questioning. 

"Of no concern of yours, mage. You may have mine if you wish Hawke, I am not hungry," he snarled. 

His stomach had other ideas and gave a rather loud grumble as Hawke reached for a plate. The sound made her laugh and heat crept up his neck and out to the tip of his ears. He could see the amusement in her eyes but before she said anything, Anders cleared his throat loudly and looked at her suddenly. 

"Can I go now Hawke? I have patients that will be looking for me and I would rather not stay here being judged," Anders said, cutting her off from making a comment. 

Was the mage trying to keep her from commenting on the state of his stomach, or was he truly just tired of the taciturn company? Either way, Fenris found he was both grateful and irritated by the man's actions. He did not need to be protected by an abomination. Pressing his lips together in a tight line, he made a muffled grunt as he crossed his arms over his chest. Either way, it had kept Hawke from commenting and she instead had her focus on the mage. 

"Alright, wait outside for me if you would Anders, I will be with you in a moment," Hawke said before giving a deep sigh.

Anders gave a nod of his head and picking up a slice of the buttered bread headed for the door. Fenris gave a low growl in response, not feeling particularly charitable or in the mood to share his rather limited resources. The stern look that he received in return from Hawke had him casting his eyes towards the floor. She always had a way of seeing what was not said and her observations were often more then a little unsettling. 

"I'll not get into the details here or ask you why you can't just be civil but I need you to do me a favor Fenris. Anders is. . . important to me and I would like to ask you to look after him. Not all the time but just, keep an eye on him from time to time. You don't need to report anything to me or interact with him much, just make sure he stays out of trouble if possible," she said, her eyes meeting his. 

"You ask too much sometimes Hawke but if it is important to you, then I will do what I can," Fenris said, his shoulders slumping forward slightly.

A part of him wanted to tell her to go fuck herself, knowing Hawke though, she would likely laugh at him and say something along the lines of "with pleasure" so he opted to stay silent on that matter. What did rankle though was that Anders was important to her. How could the mage, the abomination, be so important to her? Could she not see that he was dangerous? 

"Don't look at me like that with those big green eyes of yours Fenris. You look like a puppy who has been kicked," she said exasperated.

The comparison caused him to curl his lip in disdain. It was not just the comparison to a dog but that he was one who had been kicked. Honestly, sometimes the things she said rubbed him the wrong way and reminded all too well of his past. Perhaps it was that he flinched, or that she realized in hindsight what she said but she shook her head and gave a sigh.

"I am sorry Fenris. I didn't mean," she started to say.

"Forget it Hawke. Just take the mage and go. I will check on him as you asked," he said testily.

Hawke seemed to sense that there was nothing more that was going to be discussed, at least not civilly and she turned with a nod of her head, leaving Fenris alone with his thoughts. Moving back to the tattered couch, he sat down heavily on it, a puff of dust billowing up and dancing off to join it's companions in the shaft of sunlight. Even the dust had companions where as he was sat alone staring at the cup of tea and bread. Letting out a sigh, he picked up a piece of the bread and ate quickly before downing the tea in a few quick gulps. At least it would silence the rumble of his belly for a bit. 

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was aware that it had been a kind gesture on he part of the mage. It was not something he would openly acknowledge however. Still, the thought was there and it made him shift uncomfortably. He had not shown any kindness to the man and yet, it was being shown to him. The knowledge chafed at him like a bit of sand stuck in an uncomfortable place. Rubbing at the back of his head, he closed his eyes for a moment and gave a sigh. 

An image of Anders knelt down before him flashed through his mind and he tensed. It was all too easy to recall the warmth of the fingers around his ankle, the careful way the mage had pulled pieces of glass out so as not to cause him pain. There had been a warmth there, a kind of hope in his eyes when he had looked up. Fenris had seen a softness in those amber eyes he had not expected and seen it shatter when he had responded with his usual rankor. What if he had reached out? Shown some small kindness in return? Fire coiled in the pit of his stomach as he envisioned reaching out and touching the burnished gold hair, letting it's strands slide through his slender fingers. 

He leapt off of the couch sending it crashing to the floor and stood, his chest heaving and his luminous green eyes wide and frightened. Had he truly imagined a tender moment between them? Had he lost his mind? Had the mage put something in the tea? Picking up the now empty cup, he sniffed at the dredges of tea and found nothing unfamiliar. Perhaps the bread? Or more disturbing was perhaps that the mage had done nothing at all. 

The second plate and cup of tea remained untouched and Fenris felt a small amount of guilt. Anders had clearly made two plates one for himself and the other for his temporary, if unwilling, host. In his hasty request to leave, the mage had not eaten. Something about that made Fenris uncomfortable and he snarled at himself. He did not like that he might owe the man a debt of kindness, not that he felt beholden to such things. What exactly was he supposed to do now?

Hawke had asked him to watch over the man, said that he was important to her. Of course he was, of course the weak minded mage who had become an abomination was important to her. Well, he had been given the task and had agreed to do it. Might as well at least attempt to do so. It would only end in disaster but that was on Hawke. She could clean up the mess and Fenris would feel no guilt over letting her do it. At least, that was what he told himself as he slipped silently from the abandoned mansion. 

Hightown was it's usual buzz of activity but none of it was of any interest to him. He was headed out of the upper part of the city and headed down into Lowtown and then Darktown. Not exactly the most original names if he were honest but they did accurately reflect the areas. He thought for a moment about going to the Hanged Man, seeing if either Varric or Isabela was about. They were usually distracting company and kept his mind from going to dark places all while enabling his drinking habit. That was not his goal today however, so he turned away from the path that would lead him there and continued on to Darktown.

It was easy enough to slip unnoticed through the tunnels. He was just another wretched creature seeking shelter and was as noticed as any other person might be. He kept to the edges, moving quietly, keeping to himself as he went. Mothers clutched at wailing infants trying in vain to soothe their cries of hunger. Small family groups shared meager portions between them, huddled around flickering fires. It was an all too familiar scene and it made his stomach knot uncomfortably. Seeing the lantern that indicated the mage's domicile, he crouched down and inched forward. 

He could see within from his selected spot, see the mage as he worked. This would do just fine and Hawke could not say he had not done as he was asked. He did not expect that it was going to be anything worth his time but he would do it nonetheless. To his surprise, there was a steady stream of people in and out. Anders diligently saw to them, healing them, refusing payment. It was. . . noble. The thought send a quiver of revulsion through him. There was nothing noble about a mage, nothing good about magic. There was nothing that it touched that it did not spoil. If not for the magic, Anders might have been a good man. He could at least allow himself that much. 

It had grown late and still, he had not seen Anders stop to rest or eat. As his own stomach gave a growl, he decided that he had enough and got to his feet. The night air was cool on his face as he emerged in Lowtown and headed towards the Hanged Man. He would get a drink and return to his mansion for the night. Simple enough. It would seem that his mouth had other ideas and he found himself ordering two meals and asking them to be packed for travel. What was he doing? He knew but he did not want to admit it, not out loud and not to himself either. It was too shameful to acknowledge that he had every intention of feeding the mage. 

Growling out his thanks, he paid for the meals and made his way quickly from the establishment before anyone he knew saw him. He turned to make his way towards Hightown and stopped. Stood in the street, he gave a sigh. Hawke had asked him to watch over the mage and that was all this was. He was doing what Hawke had asked of him and there was no shame in it at all. Turning slowly, he made his way down into the depths of Darktown and followed the familiar path to Anders clinic. As he stepped through the door, he spied the mage, sat with his head in his hands, slumped forward.

"You should eat," he commented dryly and walked forward. 

He was almost amused as Anders snapped his head up and looked at him bewildered. It was as though he could not understand what he was seeing any more then Fenris himself could. He looked surprisingly like a landed fish, mouth opening and closing in disbelief and it made him snigger slightly at having thrown the mage off balance. Holding out the meal of bread, cheese and meat, he could see the wary look the mage was now giving him.

"It is not poisoned. I have brought two, so take whichever pleases you," he said and moved to sit across from the man on a low stool.

"Thank you! Hawke sent you, didn't she?" he asked sounding hopeful and then crestfallen.

"Yes. You are important to her evidently and I am to keep an eye on you. She did not however instruct me to feed you," he answered, surprising even himself with the statement. 

There was a warm look as Anders gazed at him, a smile pulling at one side of his mouth. It sent both revulsion and interest surging through him. He should not be pleased that his actions made the mage smile. Silence quickly fell between them as they each unwrapped the small meal and balanced it on their knees. Nothing needed to be said and they ate in silence for the moment. Or at least they did until a new patient came barging through the door asking for help. 

In less then a blink of an eye, Anders had laid the little packet aside and had moved to see to the wound. It seemed the man had been injured in a squabble over what meager resources there were to be had. Fenris gave a snarl as he watched the soft glow of magic work to heal the damage that had been done. Even more irritating was that when he had finished tending the wound, he picked up the little packet of food and handed it to the man. Anger flared in him as he watched the man rush from the clinic quickly stuffing as much as he could in his mouth.

"I did not bring that down here to feed others," he growled low in his throat.

"I know you didn't but he needed it more than I did. He was starving Fenris and I could do something about it. I have an obligation to. . ." Anders started.

Fenris was on his feet, stalking towards the mage and he grabbed his wrist pulling him around to face him. He could feel how slender the man was, how he was denying himself food and sleep all to try and help others. Was this his punishment? Was he punishing himself for being a mage? For being what he was? His mouth felt suddenly dry as he was face to face with the other man, eyes locked in silent battle.

"You can not tend them if you are too weak to do so. You are done for the night. Come with me," he said and turned, pulling the mage along behind him.

"I can't just leave! Fenris, there could be an injury or a sick child!" Anders protested as he stumbled along behind him.

"There will always be injuries and sick children. There is a never ending flow of them, mage. You . . . can not save them all. Now, come," he said in a low growl.

"You almost sound as if you care," Anders started.

"I don't," the retort came quickly though he wasn't exactly sure that he meant it. 

The remainder of the trip was silent and it seemed as though Anders came along more willingly then he had expected. Once inside the mansion he had claimed as his own, he let go and turned to find Anders rubbing his wrist lightly. He could see the imprint of his fingers and his cheeks flushed slightly. He turned away quickly and moved through the mansion, looking back to see if the mage was following. He was, but almost hesitantly and at a distance, seemingly unsure. As he reached the door he had intended, he pushed it open and beckoned the mage forward again.

"You may bathe in here," he commented gruffly, keeping his eyes turned away from the other man. 

Anders moved closer, stopping beside him and searching his face, confusion written on his brow. It was clear the mage did not understand but he could not give him answers. He did not understand either. Fenris was startled from his thoughts as fingers lightly touched his arm and he yanked back, banging his elbow hard against the door.

"I'm sorry! I did not mean to startle you. I only. . .wanted to thank you," Anders stammered, his eyes soft and warm as he looked at him almost imploringly. 

"Do not. . . Just get a bath and then sleep. The room you used before is two doors down across the hall," Fenris snapped and shot past the other man as if someone had tried to set him on fire. 

He stalked down the hall to the room he often used for himself and flung the door open before stepping through and slamming the door once again behind himself. His mind was whirling in a thousand directions, the light touch seemed to still linger on his arm and he tore off his armor, rubbing at the spot where fingers had found his exposed skin. It sent shivers of delight through him and he hated himself for it.

Pacing naked in his room, he finally flopped down on the bed, squeezing his eyes shut and willing himself to sleep. There was nothing he should be thinking about, nothing he should desire in this moment. The mage was an abomination, not someone to be held in esteem or respected. . . or desired. There was such a tenderness about him when he looked after his patients, a kindness that Fenris had never seen for himself before. He had but a glimpse of it when Anders had tended to the wounds in his hand and feet but it had been only a shadow of what he had seen earlier. The mage had spent the entire day tending to others, asking for nothing in return and then giving what little he had to them instead of eating to sustain himself. Despite his own better judgement, it made him curious, even interested.

There was nothing that he could do about any of it at the moment and even if he could, he knew that he should not. All he could do was close his eyes, wrap himself up in the sheets and sleep, pushing all thoughts of the mage from his mind.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING! Depiction and discussion of rape.

The air was thick with incense and the underlying metallic tang of blood. He could smell it, permeating the air and making him recoil. Fire coursed through his body, his brands lit up, glowing and pulsing to the pull of magic. He could feel his eyes roll back, his jaw cracking audibly as he held back the scream that threatened to tear from him. 

“Come now my little pet, howl for me,” a familiar voice crooned in his ear. 

Hands slid along his exposed flesh leaving a cool trail in their wake and he tried to coil in on himself. Danarius. Fenris could feel the blood magic, the lyrium in his skin burning white hot in response. Pulling, he found his wrists bound holding him forward over the table and panic set in as he heard the distinct sound of fabric pooling as it fell to the stone floor. 

Fingers dug into his hips, yanking him back roughly and he struggled against the pull. He could hear the laughter of his master at his useless attempts to avoid what was coming. Fenris knew better then to fight back, knew it would only result in more pain and yet he could not seem to keep from doing so. The weight was pressed over his back suddenly and he cried out. 

He was trapped beneath the weight of the larger man, bound and forced to endure the rough manner in which he was claimed and used. His chest was heaving, small cries and grunts leaving his body under the onslaught and then, it was over. Cool air seemed to rush against his bare flesh as his master pulled away, leaving a trail of his release against the back of his thighs. 

Then suddenly, the bonds loosened and he was no longer bound, no longer held to a submissive position. His brands flared and he whirled with a sudden ferocity and leapt at his tormentor with a growl. 

“It is your turn to howl now mage!” he hissed angrily as his fist phased through the man’s chest to find the still beating heart beneath. 

Fenris curled his lips back in satisfaction as he stood face to face with his master, holding the beating heart in his hand, squeezing it and causing the man to gasp. Life was in his hands, and he could be merciful or not in that moment. He had the power over the mages life and he was going to enjoy this. 

There was a slight tug as he felt the pull of magic and that was all he needed to move. He pulled with a savage ferocity and ripped the heart from Danarius’ chest. Bright blood ran warm between his fingers and traced a path down his arm before dripping to the floor. In the silence of the room, those drops of blood sounded almost deafening as they hit the stone. 

Danarius was dead and he felt nothing. No satisfaction, no sense that it was over and he let out a growl of anger, crushing the still warm organ in his hand and tossing the remnants aside. He whirled around, pacing for a moment and he turned to look back at the crumpled body. 

His green eyes went wide and his own heart stopped. The scene was not what he expected, it was not the room he had so often been taken. This room was simple, rose petals scattered about across the bed and there, laid on the floor was not who he expected. How could this be? This wasn’t right, this was not possible! 

Flecks of bright blood rest against pale cheeks and he moved forward slowly. Lifeless eyes stared up at him and kiss swollen lips were parted in a silent scream. Trembling, Fenris reached out and pushed a lock of burnished gold hair back and swallowed the lump in his throat. 

“Anders?” he suddenly called out, fear, surprise, and alarm in his voice. “Anders!” 

Sudden darkness, sweat soaked sheets wrapped tightly around his body and he was panting hard, his throat hoarse and dry. Confusion pressed in from all sides and his eyes darted around the room, trying to place where he was. Sitting in the middle of the bed, he lifted his hands up, expecting to find dark blood and saw nothing. His chest heaved as he gulped in cool air and he closed his eyes, tipping his head back and trying to push the strange and disturbing dream from his mind. 

Just as his heart seemed to slow and his senses stop reeling, the door to his room flew open, crashing against the wall with a loud bang. His brands flared and he scrambled to his feet, squinting against the pool of light that spilled in around the form stood in his doorway. 

“I heard you cry out! What happened? Are you hurt?” a familiar voice asked suddenly as a rather disheveled looking Anders stepped into the room. 

“I did not cry out, mage. Leave,” Fenris snarled angrily. 

“You did! I heard you shout my name and I thought that something had happened. If you were calling to me it had to be. . . you are drenched in sweat! Do you have a fever?” Anders asked as he stepped closer, warm amber eyes sweeping over him in concern. 

“Leave me be, abomination! I cried out your name as I ripped your still beating heart from your chest. Unfortunately, it was only a dream,” he spat back angrily. 

He could see the other man’s shoulders slump and his head fell forward slightly. Something about it sent a pang of guilt through him. It had not been Anders he had thought he was killing and when he realized it was, he had been. . . what, frightened? Upset? His stomach gave a sudden lurch as he realized it had upset him. Seeing Anders dead at his feet had upset him greatly. 

His legs felt weak and he staggered backwards, collapsing against the bed as he clutched the sheet around him. He could not speak, could not protest as Anders moved to his side and placed the back of his hand against his forehead. Magic flooded into him, caressing along the lines of lyrium and attempting to heal him. There was no injury though, no illness that Anders could erase. 

“It will not do any good. The wound is not one you can heal,” he said in a soft and low voice. 

Anders met his eyes and gave a sudden nod of his head. A small sigh escaped the other man’s lips and the next thing he knew, the mage was sat on the edge of his bed. He was looking at him with an understanding he had not expected and it caused him to curl his lip up slightly at the man. 

“Nightmares are hard to. . . it is hard to distinguish what you are dreaming from what has happened before. I don’t think they ever actually go away, though there are times when they are less frequent or more easily recognized,” Anders said quietly as he studied his hands, picking at his nails for a moment before he folded them and looked back up. 

“You, have nightmares?” Fenris asked suddenly, his eyes wide as he looked at him. 

Clearly he was losing his mind if he was asking the mage such things. It was another dream, there was no other explanation for it and yet it felt real. It felt solid and cold and lonely. There was no answer though and he could almost see the struggle, the conflict within the mage as he tried to find an answer. 

Just as Fenris was about to mock him, sneer at him for trying to make a connection to something he could not understand, he saw Anders give a silent nod of his head. Furrowing his brow he let out a huff of air and folded his arms across his bare chest, waiting for an answer. He was certainly not about to start coddling the mage because he had been in a circle. 

“Yes, I have nightmares. I dream about the Templars, what they did, what they. . . forced us to do. I still struggle with it, with what happened,” Anders responded, his voice a quiet whisper. 

“Oh, yes you were held in a circle. Must have been terrible for you,” Fenris snarled. 

“Well, that is terrible but that is not what I dream about Fenris. I dream in vivid detail of every time I was touched, or used by one of them. I can not escape the fear or the pain, or the shame. It happened often and to many of us. It still happens to others. You saw a glimpse of it with Alrik and you know what was going to happen to that girl. You know that he was going to rape her and that when she was made tranquil, he could literally have her do anything and she would not object, she would just comply. That is what happens when you are tranquil. You don’t fight, you don’t resist, you just do as you are told,” Anders said, his voice hitching suddenly.  


“I am sorry. I assumed that you were just weak. In that regard, you do not have anything to be ashamed of. Rape is not. . . it is not your fault,” Fenris said, startled by the sudden feeling of understanding. 

He knew what Anders meant though, he knew that no matter what, it made you feel as if you wanted to peel your skin off, to scrub away any memory of their touch. Even more startling was the almost tender way that Anders looked at him or the tightness of his chest. As if his hand had a mind of it’s own, it moved and brushed back a strand of wild hair from the other man’s face. Fingers brushed against his cheek and he saw the man’s eyes dilate.  
“Fenris,” Anders half whispered and leaned forward slightly, hands trembling. 

“Go back to bed and leave me be. You are not needed here or wanted for that matter,” Fenris snarled. 

Guilt twisted in his abdomen and he had to look away. Anders actually looked hurt by his word and he couldn’t understand why. What did his wish to be alone have to do with the mage? Why did the other man care at all? When he looked back towards him, the mage gave a cocky little grin and stood up, brushing his lap and smoothing his robe down. 

“You don’t know what your missing. Fine, I’ll go and keep myself company. I would say call out if you need me but since you have made it clear I am not needed or wanted I suppose I should ignore it if you do,” Anders said with a wicked little grin and a wink. 

“Go, before I rip your heart out mage,” Fenris snarled and looked away again, folding his arms tightly across his chest. 

He remained that way even as he heard the door close, clicking softly as it latched. Alone again, he let his chin fall to his chest and he let out a shaky breath. All of it had been unexpected and frankly, disturbing. That he should have pictured Anders dead at his feet and had it bother him was alarming enough. To wake though and find the man rushing to his aide had been even more so. Rubbing the palm of his hand over his own heart he gave a low growl. 

“I am not supposed to understand you. You are not supposed to understand me,” he said to the dark and silent room. 

He sat in the inky darkness, his mind turning in a thousand directions at once. He analysed he look, each word from the other man. The soft and warm way in which he had been concerned, the light touch of a cool hand upon his brow. The touch had been gentle, something he had not experienced before and it sent a shiver through him. 

Wrapping the sheet around his waist, he got to his feet and made his way to the wardrobe. The door creaked as he pulled it open and he reached in, pulling out a bottle of wine from the bottom. He always kept one or two stashed for nights when he could not sleep. Tonight it seemed he would not be sleeping without the aid of a fair amount of wine. 

Drawing deeply from the bottle, he shuffled back over to the bed and sat down heavily. When he closed his eyes though, all he could see was a pair or warm, amber eyes staring at him. Something in their depths stirred him, made his chest feel tight. Drawing from the bottle again, he snarled at himself. 

“Weak fool. It means nothing, it is nothing,” he hissed before drinking again. 

The bottle was empty quickly enough but he still could not find the rest he so desperately wanted. Retrieving a second bottle he dropped down and began to drain it as well. His internal struggle and the strange feelings of desire had him on edge and he spent a good deal of time trying to reason with himself. 

By the third bottle, he was convinced that Anders had cast some sort of spell over him. It was the only logical explanation he could find. If he confronted him though, would it be lifted or would he simply give in to the want for a gentle touch? Groaning, he flopped back on the bed, the empty bottle slipping from his fingers and smashing on the floor. 

In the haze that slipped up around him he was only vaguely aware of the tinkle of glass. Pulling his legs up, he rolled towards the center of the bed, cocooned in the sheets he burrowed into the mattress and let his eyes slide closed. He didn’t hurt however and the memories that sometimes plagued him were far away and drowning in wine. He drifted into a dreamless sleep leaving his fears behind.


End file.
